Broken Hearts Still Beat
by wandertogondor
Summary: Claire was so jealous of whomever Dean would fall in love with not because she wouldn't have him forever, but because she wanted to be split apart into the little pieces that he would glue back together.
1. Chapter 1

Taking one look at his face, Claire hopelessly dropped her head and combed her fingers through her hair, chastising herself for even glancing in his direction.

Everything about him was perfect.

Everything.

An ache turned at the pit of her stomach. She knew full well that there would be no chance in hell that someone with a face like his would even glance in her direction. Her focus was intently fixated on the steady curve of his long fingers as he brought the beer mug up to his lips, taking a long draw with his eyes closed.

He looked intelligent.

And he was built like Adonis.

She dejectedly smiled to herself, emerging herself once again into her drink, seething with jealousy at whomever that dark stranger fell in love with. Claire could almost see him draping his arm around the perfect curve of a beautiful women's shoulder, or smiling at his lover with the flawless hairpin curve of his lips, or turn his green eyes on his lover's face.

All Claire wished, as she sat alone at that small bar with her lone drink, was to be lucky enough to be able to chart his pale blue veins and to get lost in the constellations of that stranger's green eyes. She wanted to be able to run her fingers down his bare arms and into his hands.

But she was never that lucky.

She stared at the her reflection against the amber liquid in the glass, thinking about how she just wasn't pretty enough or smart enough or good enough to ever merit the attention of such a stranger who was perfect in every single way. He was so perfect, in fact, that simply thinking about him in such an innocent, displaced way had her squirming in her seat, wishing she had enough self-control to get up and leave instead of torturing herself in his presence.

Smiling to herself in a moment of weakness, Claire gathered her jacket, threw a generous twenty dollar bill on the counter, and began the walk of shame and self-resentment toward the front door. She slid into her jacket, bundling herself up for the onslaught of snow.

"Goddamn," was her muted reaction to the white blanket just outside the window. "I don't want to walk home in this."

Despite the unwillingness to step out into the compromising weather just outside the door, Claire slowly pulled on her gloves, bracing herself for the wave of cold air that would soon envelop her. As she reached for the door handle, a hand stopped hers halfway.

"You need a ride?"

Claire turned her neck just far enough to see his jacket, then lifted her eyes to his, swallowing down whatever disgusting heat that swelling up at the pit of her stomach at the sight of the same stranger she was so enchanted with. Lips parted, ready for a response, Claire realized a little too late that she hadn't run it through her brain first.

"That'd be great. Thank you."

_What the actual fuck_, she bit her cheek hard, chastising herself for the second time that night for melting into a puddle.

But when he smiled. _Oh_, when he smiled…Claire was quickly reminded how in love she was with him in the few minutes that she had spent in his general proximity.

"I'm Dean," he said loudly over the sound of the roaring wind, taking her by the elbow and guiding her toward the snow-caked black Impala parked a little way into the parking lot.

She shivered as she sat in the passenger's seat, watching as Dean started the engine and turned the heat all the way up for her sake. "My name's Claire."

A fire was stroked in her belly when he smiled again and pulled the vehicle out of the parking lot. "Tell me if I'm wrong, but do you always walk through blizzards just to stare at guys over a glass of beer?"

Claire grit her teeth under an embarrassed grin. "Was I that obvious?"

"Mmm," he mused, "a little bit."

"I'm sorry," Claire laughed even though she felt the red in her cheeks rise up to her ears.

"Don't be sorry," he was shaking his head vigorously and insisted. "I mean, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't coping a look at you every now and then too."

Claire laughed and tried to look as distracted as one could appear staring out the window at a blizzard. "Lucky me."

He glanced over. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," she dismissed with a mischievous grin, sliding her reddened fingers out from the gloves that were counterproductive from the cold. "Nothing at all."

A moment of silence lapsed over the course of seconds into minutes and the only sound that broke the silence and settled into the air between Claire and Dean was the sound of Chicago humming through the speakers. She instructed the route towards her modest little abode, cutting the directions short so he wouldn't have to look at the eyesore that was her cabin.

"You live alone?" There was concerned curiosity in his tone that Claire swore that she would never forget.

She nodded, bracing herself with one hand against the dashboard when the Impala came to a halt ways from where her cabin sat over a frost-covered river. "I never was lucky with men."

Dean stared at her for what seemed like years, eyes squinted as if he was studying her every facial feature as the seconds ticked by, waiting for her to break under his intensity. Though it didn't take long for her to break eye contact with him, her face getting as red as her hair, Dean continued to watch and continued to admire her every movements.

"Maybe that can change."

"Yeah," she chuckled and intertwined her middle and pointer finger, "here's hoping." Claire fumbled with her gloves and was halfway through thanking him for his kindness when she stopped short and took a deep breath, realizing just how fast she was talking and how intently he was still watching her.

_Oh, great. Great job, Claire. The guy of your dreams just drove you home and you sound like a nineteen year old after half a glass of wine._

"Sorry." The word tasted bland and overused as it rolled off of her lips. "I wish I had something to give you in return for driving me but my cabin isn't exactly warm and my wallet isn't exactly full."

"Don't worry about it." He brushed it away, leaning over to rifled through the glove compartment for a business card. "Hey, I can't say I'm too happy leaving you alone here in the middle of a blizzard, but if you need anything call me."

"It says your name is Burt Aframian on this card."

Dean didn't skip a beat to justify. "It's really my partner's card. The phone number is still good though. Promise."

Biting down on her lips, still reading and rereading the 3.5 by 2 inch business card, Claire nodded and swung the Impala's door open, placing one booted foot down onto the bed of snow. "Thanks again."

He smiled and tilted his chin upward.

Though disappointed in the lack of acceleration of such a situation, Claire hiked up to her cabin with a chest full of happiness simply from being so close to Dean. No, she didn't get to run her fingers down his arms and she didn't get to chart his pale blue veins but she did get to be lost in the constellations in his eyes in the fifteen minutes that she got to spend with him.

It was more than enough for her.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not going to lie, this was based on a guy in my classes that I'm totally and hopelessly in love with. Every little thing he does is magic and I've accepted that being with him romantically isn't plausible - especially not it our situation in a military school. As much as it hurts that I won't be able to be the one who he wraps his arms around or the one his fingers ghost across gently, I'm grateful for all the time I get to spend with him in classes and all the extra I get to spend doing projects with him. <strong>

**Anyway, my face is getting all red just thinking about him even though I'm home in Maryland and he's in New Jersey for Thanksgiving furlough.**

**Hope all of you had a wonderful Thanksgiving with those you love!**

**-Stephanie**


	2. Chapter 2

Claire had taped the business card that Dean had given her onto her refrigerator, oftentimes staring at it after dinner with her cell phone flush against her palm. She'd stare at it for several minutes, constraining herself with another sheepish smile, before moving away and on with her day, pushing back the untouched memory of him to a perfect little corner of her mind.

In the days following her encounter with him at that small bar, Claire wished from the bottom of her heart that she was an artist if only to be able to scrape her pencil across the canvas to capture the flawless features of his face. She wished from the bottom of her heart to be an artist if only to be able to describe the aesthetics of his body with beautiful words.

Re-exploring the maps and charts of him, locked away in the vaults of her heart, was refreshing and new but she knew that there was more to discover behind the constellations in his eyes. She wanted to travel to that distant place, to become familiar with the infinite. She wanted to have her breath cut short if only to realize how rare and beautiful her existence truly was after meeting him. She wanted to learn all those things from him but she could just never seem to find a pen to put it all down.

One day, months after the blizzard had hit, Claire pulled Burt Aframian's business off of her refrigerator and punched the numbers into her phone. Her hand didn't shake as she expected, bringing the phone up to her ear, but her body did when the line went through, followed by the repetitive rings that reverberated through her ribs.

_We are sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again._

Whether the feeling was of disappointment or relief, Claire shook it off and exhaled sharply; telling herself that she was just too late and that it would be alright once again for her aching heart. She knew from the very beginning that it wasn't plausible for someone like her to end up with someone like him. It was like she was an astronomer staring through a telescope in adoration at a radiant star millions of miles away from her reach.

The feeling should have faded. The adoration should have ceased. But the fire stroked in Claire's stomach still burned bright, still refused to return to embers, and she hated every wonderful moment. It was like being in heaven even though she knew she wouldn't stay. It was like placing her hand on his shoulder and feeling the heat of his body through his clothing. It was like innocent intimacy. Like being able to smile at him while he would be engrossed in a book or being able to touch the small of his back as she would slide past. It was like waking up from the same dream and looking backwards at whatever thoughts she could gather from the last memory she had visited.

If Claire was ever lucky enough to see Dean again, she was sure that she'd ask him to stay for a little while. Because it was spring and her cabin was warm and her wallet wasn't as thin as it was in the winter.

She was lucky enough to see him again. Lucky in the sense that he was standing on her doorstep drenched in the pouring rain with his bloodied hand pressed against his side.

"Remember me?" He had said with a fractured smile.

The sound that escaped between Claire's lips was half a laugh and half a response. "How could I forget?"

Taking the duffel he had slung over his shoulder, Claire helped him ease down onto her couch. It took all her might not to be distracted by the raindrops that were so lucky to be clinging to his skin or that fact that he looked so different but exactly the same. Instead, she leaned over his torso, peeling back the blood-caked fabric to see the ugly purple and black laceration on his side.

"I'm sorry," he groaned in pain, clenching his teeth.

At that moment she saw the universe behind his eyes and she was willing to explain the infinite if he wanted to hear it. "Don't be sorry."

She wasn't sorry. She wasn't sorry at all to open her front door to see him standing there.

Claire opened his duffel and found three white bandages along with some salve and a change of clothes inside. Going further into the crevices, as he breathlessly instructed, she found a small sewing kit tucked away between his spare clothes.

"I wouldn't have come to you unless I had no one else to go to. Besides, I hoped that I'd be able to see you again."

She smiled. _Wide_. "Save it for after I've sewn you up, tough guy."

Pulling out a dish of warm soapy water and a clean cloth, Claire cleaned the dried and coagulated blood from his skin around the wound before placing a damp cloth over the open gash. She sterilized the needle-tip over the flame of a lighter before threading it through.

"Ready?"

Dean nodded and took a long swig of her prized whiskey in preparation for the discomfort that would follow the burning sensation of the alcohol.

Her hand felt cool against his burning body as she pulled the needle through his skin and closed up the wound in quiet progress. She felt the rise and fall of his inhales just under her fingertips and it occurred to her that she was really touching the man that she was so unreasonably in love with.

If only she could see the same infatuation she felt in the way Dean watched her from over the brim of the whiskey bottle. He was looking at her like she was the answer to every question; like the only way to make life truly count was to first lean over and kiss her. He looked at her like she was the golden string that kept the universe clothed in light. She was a masterpiece to him. A masterpiece bursting at the seams. Because if broken things were a work of art he was the poster boy prodigy and she was the Mona Lisa.

Claire tied off the silk thread and prolonged her touch by looking up as if to silently inquire if she had permission to proceed, the can of healing salve in her hand. He stared back at her not knowing why but unwilling to bring words into the conversation. She pursed her lips in a vain attempt to hide the delighted smile pulling at the corners of her mouth and used two fingers to generously smother the salve over the stitches and the swollen skin, quickly wrapping the white bandage on top.

"You're good," she quietly remarked as she sat at the opposite end of the couch by his booted feet. "You feel okay? Need a blanket?"

"I wouldn't hate getting out of these dirty clothes." Dean carefully set the bottle down on the coffee table and made a weak attempt to pull his shirt over his head, motioning to her to help him with a boyish grin. He'd been thinking of any excuse for her to do so.

Piling his dirty shirt and jacket in the crook of her arm, Claire grinned into her shoulder blade on the way to the laundry room. The gods and fortune were surely rewarding her for her patience and long-suffering.

"I'm guessing you're hungry," Claire said as she cleaned up the space around the couch, daring to meet his gaze in expectation for an answer.

He shook his head slowly, chin tilted up. "No, I'm fine."

She nodded and leaned over the couch to absently straighten out the bandage around his torso even though there was absolutely no need for it to be straightened. Claire's mouth opened and closed as if words would spontaneously float through. "Can I ask what happened?"

"Well," he began, "some people believe in eye for an eye."

"Oh." It was a puff of air. "I'm trackin'."

Dean's lips quirked upward as she sat in a chair close by, hands folded in her lap, and eyes politely finding interest in every point of the room except at his bared chest. He shifted to sit up straight with his feet on the ground, hissing in pain through clenched teeth when the stitches stretched out on impact. Claire was on her feet and bracing her hand against his back to keep him sitting upright.

"You catch a lucky guy yet?"

Claire twisted her pointer and middle finger together again and held it up so he could see. "Still looking."

"So I got a chance?" Dean had a Cheshire grin plastered across the expanse of his face.

There was a long pause while Claire took a few moments to process what he said, still leaning two feet from him. A wry grin had immediately formed across her lips just from the sound of his voice but quickly faded at what he said. It must have been a cruel joke but that wouldn't stop Claire from delivering her own punchline.

"I would say so," she said with a flirtatious inflection, cocking her head to one side. "But don't get ahead of yourself, tough guy."

"You give me a time and a place and I'll be there," Dean smirked, reaching out to twirl a strand of her hair between his fingers. "Can I kiss you?"

Claire edged nearer, too scared to make impact but too eager to close the space between them. Stopping inches away, she braced herself for only a second before Dean's lips pressed up against hers. Their bodies came together and Claire felt like the entire universe was closing in around her, like kissing him was the only thing that would make truly make her life count. She felt his hot breath fan across her face as he moved in for more passionate kiss, and bit down on his lower lip in response.

Claire realized, beyond the pitch black and pale blue stained glass variation of the truth, that she was only honest in the rain and, if she timed the moment right, that the thunder would break over the countless hours she spent daydreaming over the moment she was experiencing then. Dean was perfect in her eyes. He was perfect at a distance and even more so up close. So, with shortness of breath, Claire swore that this was how the universe would always be seen by her eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>This has been the most genuine story that I have ever written. It may seem sappy and repetitive and horribly cliched but it's a new feeling to me. I've never felt this way about anyone before and I don't know any other way to say it. If only, if only.<strong>


End file.
